Give Me A W-I-L-D
by braille upon my skin
Summary: Perhaps being stuck on the bottom of the pyramid is worth it, if it means that he gets to support Troy. Cheerleader Ryan and Sharpay AU. Slash. R/T.


A/N: I'm not one-hundred percent certain where this idea originated from, but once I conceptualized Ryan and Sharpay as cheerleaders, I knew I just had to write a fic about it.

This is set during junior year and takes place in an alternate universe. Of course.

I decided to model this universe's junior year Peyton after Austin Butler as he appears in _Aliens in the Attic_ , plus glasses. The other girls on the cheerleading squad are the cheerleaders who appear in the first movie. They're unnamed, so I exercised some creative license.

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 ** _Give me a W-I-L-D_**

Sharpay Evans is the captain of East High's cheerleading squad. As she should be. She's the physical embodiment of everything a cheerleading captain _is_ and _represents_ with her wavy blonde hair, intense brown eyes, allure, and long, toned legs. She commands the other girls on the squad and nails every front flip and high-kick without breaking a sweat.

She's earned her place at the top of the pyramid.

But… as Ryan Evans wipes the sweat off of his neck with a towel, his legs quiver and his shoulders ache from the weight of the four girls, including Sharpay, that he had to hold upright. He listens to the lively chatter of the squad as they disperse into their little groups around him, and watches Sharpay jog onto the track field to strike up a conversation with, or, more accurately, _make passes at_ Troy Bolton, East High's basketball hero and star athlete.

Sharpay twirls a free lock of her blond hair, her voice high and sugary.

Ryan feels his heart sink into the pit of his stomach.

He sees Troy reply stiffly to Sharpay, and two of Troy's basketball teammates, Chad Danforth and Jason Cross, exchange a glance and let out hearty laughs at whatever Sharpay is saying.

There are grass stains on Ryan's socks; big, unsightly, muddy ones, thanks to the field still being damp from the rain, last night, that are going to require bleach to get out.

Sharpay's uniform is as pristine and spotless as her complexion.

Ryan sighs as Troy gives Sharpay an awkward parting wave before making his way back onto the basketball court, and feels the sigh all the way at the soles of his feet. He understands _why_ his sister is at the top of the pyramid, both literally and metaphorically. He just wishes _he_ didn't always have to be at the _bottom_.

* * *

"E-A-S-T H-I-G-H. We're the ones who'll win the game. With our boys in red and white, we're the ones who'll take the night! East High! East High! Go, Wildcats!"

Nola, a cheerleader who always wears her thick, black hair loose during practice, smacks Ryan in the stomach as she assumes the finishing pose. Ryan winces, the air knocked out of him, and staggers a bit, even as he tries to maintain the formation.

Nola turns to him, aghast. "Oh my goodness! I'm _so_ sorry!"

Before Ryan can find the words to assure her that he's fine, and that the _routine_ is what she should be focused on, Sharpay barks, " _Nola_!"

The dark-haired girl jumps.

"We've been through this _five_ times! How many times do I have to tell you to watch what you're doing?"

"I'm sorry, Sharpay."

Sharpay's eyes narrow.

Ryan watches the other girls exchange worried glances. His pulse picks up.

Sharpay leaves her position at the point of the formation and stalks toward Nola, her eyes glinting fiercely. "We have an away game tomorrow," she grits out. "Do you want to be responsible for making the entire squad look bad?"

"N-No, ma'am." Nola shakes her head, eyes fixed on her shoes.

Ryan feels his heart give a sympathetic twist. "Sis, come on," he interjects. "She just made a mistake. I was probably standing too close to her, or-"

"Oh, shut up, Ryan!"

"Hey. Is there a problem, here?" A tenor-baritone voice cuts in. It causes Ryan's skin to pimple with goosebumps and his heart to miss a beat.

He looks over to see none other than Troy Bolton and Troy's tall, gangly friend approaching them. Troy's distinct brows furrow as his gaze flits over all of the girls before resting on Ryan.

Ryan swallows, incredulous.

"I wouldn't exactly call this a 'yearbook-worthy' situation," Troy's friend, a glasses wearing blond with wavy hair, full lips, and a slight overbite, quips.

"And, who asked you?" Sharpay fires back.

The blond boy smiles, unaffected. "It was just an observation."

"Well." Sharpay's lips curl into a snide smirk. "I think you can take your 'observation', and shove it right up your-"

Ryan steps in and grabs Sharpay's upper arm, cutting her off. "Maybe we should take five?" He suggests. Her ire is now directed at him, but he can bear it. He's used to it. He continues, mostly unfazed by the glare scoring his face, "I think the heat is getting to everyone."

"I agree," Troy, much to Ryan's surprise, chips in. "My team is taking a break." He nods toward the basketball court, where his teammates are dousing each other with bottles of water, and stripping off their t-shirts to avoid heat stroke.

The tarmac on the track field glistens under the sunlight pounding down on it.

"Fine," Sharpay relents, yanking her arm away from Ryan. "I'm going to get a drink. I expect that 'mistake'," she gives Nola a pointed look, "to have corrected itself by the time I get back. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Sharpay," the girls murmur.

Unshed tears shimmer on the surface of Nola's brown eyes.

Sharpay makes a move to strut toward the coolers on the track field, flipping her hair over her shoulder, when a flash goes off. Ryan's eyes swim with spots, and Sharpay falters in her stride. "Do you _always_ have to do that?" She demands.

"I thought it would a great shot for the yearbook," the tall blond boy replies, checking his Canon PowerShot camera. Faint pink colors his cheeks.

Sharpay's glare softens just visibly. "I suppose I can't blame you for that." A smile begins to work its way across her face, and she flutters her eyelashes, her voice adopting a different sugary tone than the one she used on Troy, the other day. "If you can get me a bottled water, I'll let you take more pictures of me. And the squad, of course."

Alexis, a brunette whose hair has a reddish tint, and Kailey, a blonde who usually pulls her hair into a ponytail, perk up at this prospect. They trade grins with Taryn, another blonde with short hair, McKenzie, whose thick brunette curls bob giddily, and Raquel, who can't hide her own smile.

Ryan shakes his head. As much as he'd love to have his picture in the yearbook- that's a normal human desire, right?- he knows _exactly_ whose face will be dominating multiple page-spreads. He'll have to squint to see himself in his one un-photogenic picture, where he'll be, no doubt, at the back of the squad. _As alway_ s.

Troy shakes his head, as well, at Sharpay's unabashed vanity, and for a brief moment, his eyes meet Ryan's.

Immediately, heat shooting into his cheeks, Ryan averts his gaze.

"That sounds like an offer I can't refuse," the tall blond boy replies.

"Fabulous." Sharpay smiles. As she and the bespectacled boy set off, Ryan notes that Sharpay keeps pace with him, and doesn't scrunch up her face with disgust. In fact, if he didn't know any better, he'd think she was pleased as punch to entertain the gangly blond's company.

"Are you okay?" Ryan asks Nola.

She nods, sniffling. "Yeah. No offense, but your sister is scary."

 _Yeah_ , Ryan thinks. _Don't I know it._

"I'm never going to make a mistake again," Nola declares. The other girls give murmurs of agreement.

"Well," Raquel says, "we might as well follow the captain's lead."

The girls all nod. As a unit, they head toward the track field.

No one asks Ryan if he wanted anything.

No one inquires if Ryan is roasting alive under his uniform.

Fighting back his feelings of discouragement, Ryan tugs the zipper of his red EHS hoodie down, and slips out of the garment. He's about to wipe off the sweat beading on his forehead with the sleeve of his white t-shirt, until he feels eyes fixed on him.

 _Troy_. Troy is still…

Scrambling, Ryan tugs the hem of his shirt back down, and prays with all of his might that he doesn't have pit stains.

Troy throws his hands up, palms facing Ryan. "You don't need to sweat to death on my account. We have the same parts, right?"

"Right," Ryan manages, his cheeks burning. "I'm sorry for the striptease-" _"Striptease"?_ What _?_ he questions himself as soon as the word leaves his mouth. But, it's too late to retract it. "Erm, that is, uh-"

Here he goes, making a colossal fool out of himself, as usual. This is why he-

"It's totally cool," Troy assures him. "I didn't mind at all."

"You didn't…?" Ryan starts. There's no way this means what he's thinking it does. What he's _wishing_ it did.

"Catch!"

An ice cold bottle of water flies in Ryan's direction. He somehow reacts in time, closing his hands around it. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." Troy takes a sip from his own bottle of water. Ryan can't help noticing the drops that flow out of the sides of Troy's mouth and drip down his throat, streaming over the ridges of his collarbone and into his shirt.

His own mouth is suddenly unbearably dry. Eagerly, he twists the cap off and lets the cold water flood his insides. It has an instantaneous effect on his body temperature.

"So… " Troy prompts, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Why does Sharpay always keep you at the back of the group and the bottom of the pyramid?"

Ryan shrugs. "That's just… how she's always run the show."

Troy sets his bottled water down and leans against the bleachers, hands slipping into the pockets of his red EHS sweatpants. "It's an interesting tactic; putting the foundation of the team at the literal bottom."

"'Foundation'? Me?" One of them _has_ to be mistaken. Perhaps Ryan has misheard, or he's hallucinating, and one of his more fanciful imaginings is inexplicably unfolding right in front of him.

"Yeah. You can't keep a team together by scaring people."

"Rudimentary knowledge that someone obviously neglected to share with my sister," Ryan mutters, half to himself.

Troy's lips twitch with amusement.

Ryan always knew that Troy was special. He manages to stand out among his teammates, not just for his athletic abilities or striking appearance, but for his warm, earnest smile, and the emotions churning in the depths of his ocean blue eyes and causing a crease in his brow bone. Apparently, Troy also has a fondness for dry humor. Who would have guessed?

"In all seriousness," Troy goes on, his expression shifting to match his tone as he moves away from the bleachers and toward Ryan. "You're _good_ , Ryan. _Really_ good. I've seen you guys in practice, and at games, and you almost look like…"

"Yeah?" Ryan presses, hope surging into his chest.

"Like a dancer."

The word "dancer", travels through Ryan's ear canals and right into his heart, where it reverberates. He recalls going on a field trip to watch a ballet recital or two, in elementary school, and has often tried to imitate the choreography in music videos. Something about the fluidity of the dancers' movements spoke to him, fascinated him. He began thinking of ways to subtly incorporate his favorite dance moves in the squad's cheer routines, hoping to spice them up, to bring something unique to the table, only to be on the receiving end of a harsh scolding from a disapproving Sharpay.

"You really think so?"

"Yeah." Troy nods. He reaches out to give Ryan a reassuring pat on the bicep. "I do."

"Hoops!" Chad calls out.

"Ryan!" Sharpay commands. "Five minutes are up!"

"I've gotta go," Troy says, something like dismay darkening his voice and expression.

"Hey," Ryan ventures timidly, "Don't overwork yourself, okay?"

Troy's eyes widen for a second, and it occurs to Ryan that no one has ever told Troy something so simple, such a tiny signifier of affection for the addressee, before. Then, a smile replaces Troy's surprise. "I'll try not to. Thanks."

Ryan nods and returns the smile. Happiness fizzes through him.

"Ryan!" Sharpay's voice is sharper. It's a _demand_ , now.

"Come on!" Chad calls again, frustrated.

"We'd better…" Ryan starts.

"Right." Troy steps back without turning away or breaking his eye contact with Ryan. As he stoops to retrieve his bottled water, he asks, "I'll see you at the game, tomorrow?"

Ryan cups his hands around his mouth to funnel the sound of his reply directly to Troy's ears. "You _know_ it!" He watches Troy's face light up before he turns and jogs back to his teammates, observes the graceful, skilled, and simultaneously wonderfully _dorky_ movement of the star basketball player's limbs, and can't help the smile that works its way across his face, the fluttering in his stomach, and the way his heart beats faster.

 _Perhaps_ , he thinks, _being stuck on the bottom of the pyramid is worth it, if it means that I get to support Troy.  
_

* * *

He could have chosen a better place to wait than East High's parking lot. He should have asked his parents to buy him a car for his sixteenth birthday. But, Sharpay is the one who got a car on their birthday, and, consequently, she is Ryan's ride home.

Meaning Ryan is effectively stranded while Sharpay indulges in her "dish of the week".

Sharpay walked back into the school building with Troy's tall, blond friend, assuring Ryan that whatever they were doing would only take "fifteen minutes, tops".

Ryan has counted. It's been twenty-five minutes, and there's still no sign of his sister. Before unsavory thoughts of what Sharpay and the glasses wearing blond boy are actually up to can fill his head, he puts in his earbuds, sits down, cross-legged on the hood of his sister's car, and pulls out his copy of _Girl Interrupted_ , by Susanna Kaysen. He removes his bookmark and resumes reading where he left off, the piano chords of Tori Amos's "Silent All These Years", flowing into his ears.

He doesn't hear the other boys approach until it's too late.

He's pitched forward, hitting the pavement palm-first, with only his reflexes to thank for his face not smacking into the tarmac. As he squirms to get off of his stomach and face his assailant, a foot slams into his lower back. The bridge of the song, a desperate plea to be heard, is still audible through the speakers of Ryan's earbuds while that foot continues to batter his sides, his ribs, stomp on his book and kick it under Sharpay's pink convertible.

Mocking laughter echoes around him.

By the time Sharpay emerges and lets out an alarmed scream, and Troy's blond friend has rushed to Ryan's aid and helped him to his feet, the assailants are long gone.

* * *

Blocking out the whispers, not-so-quiet murmurings, and prolonged stares in the hallways when he re-enters the school building, the following day, is nigh impossible. But, Ryan keeps his eyes focused straight ahead as he trails along behind his sister.

He wishes the squeaking of their sneakers could drown out the gossip and rumors swirling around them.

As they approach Sharpay's locker, Troy is standing there, his sun-kissed skin, shaggy brunet hair, and blue jacket looking distinctly out of place next to the bright pink vinyl coating the head cheerleader's locker.

Ryan's heart jumps. He opens his mouth to greet Troy, but before he can form a sentence, Sharpay cuts him off.

"Well, this is a pleasant surprise."

"I heard what happened yesterday," Troy says. His gaze is trained on Ryan, the blue of his irises darkened, brow line creasing. It's like he's trying to stare into Ryan's soul, and it almost startles Ryan to realize that he wouldn't object to Troy seeing _everything_.

"Yes," Sharpay replies smoothly. "Ryan and I appreciate your concern-"

"Are you okay?" Troy asks. He passes right by Sharpay to stand in front of Ryan. Ryan can feel his sister gaping, open-mouthed, obviously nonplussed. _No one_ slights Sharpay Evans.

But, Troy Bolton just did.

"Yeah," Ryan assures him, hoping he won't have to face his sister's wrath later for encouraging such a snub. "It's just a couple of bruised ribs and some bruising on my spine. Nothing I can't…." He finds himself entranced by the tinge of green to Troy's irises, something he's just noticed. It reminds him of sea foam, of a riptide flowing through the ocean, and even though his feet are planted on the ground, he feels himself being carried away. "Handle," he finishes. He swallows, hoping he isn't gaping like a hapless, braindead freak.

He doesn't struggle to free himself from the current.

Troy looks Ryan over. "If _anyone_ gives you any more problems, come tell me. Alright?"

Ryan's breath catches in his throat. What could he have possibly done to make _Troy Bolton_ care so much about him? "I will," he promises.

Troy nods. His lips part to reveal the tip of his tongue touching the back of his top row of teeth. His pupils dilate. Is it simply Ryan's imagination, or is the distance between them shrinking by the second?

Sharpay's indignant huffs break the spell.

Ryan blinks, giving his head a slight shake as he returns to reality. To his messenger bag digging into his hip, and the bag's strap pressing against his bruised ribs. To the real world, where Troy is always so _close_ that Ryan can feel the adrenaline coursing through him, and smell the mingled aroma of his cologne and the sweat shining on his skin during games and practice, but so _far_ that Ryan's arms could never stretch enough for his fingertips to so much as _graze_ the beautiful athlete.

Sharpay pushes past to get to her locker, which she pulls open to reveal numerous hair care products, hair accessories, pictures of herself and her dog, textbooks with rhinestone-coated covers, and mirrors.

Ryan can see Troy's reflection in one of those mirrors. He appears dazed, like he, too, is coming out of a trance.

"I'll… I'll catch you guys later," Troy says slowly. He pats Ryan on the shoulder, and his hand lingers for just a few seconds longer than normal. Long enough for an electric shock to shoot out from Troy's palm and the pads of his fingers, and circulate through Ryan's entire nervous system. Once it's completed its circuit, the jolt ebbs to a dull pulsation that sets every nerve tingling with anticipation and Ryan's pulse thumping.

Ryan had always heard of the mystical "spark" between people who are meant to have a relationship with each other. He never took it as a _literal spark_.

Until now.

* * *

The sharp sound of Coach Bolton's whistle blasts Ryan's eardrums.

Troy's shot misses the basket by several inches.

Ryan can see the other boys on the team dispersing while Coach Bolton stalks over to his son, whistle still clenched between his teeth.

As his father speaks to him, Troy's muscles stiffen. He lowers his head, his shaggy hair falling over his eyes, and Ryan can make out a frown on the golden boy's face.

His heart twisting, Ryan gnaws at his lower lip. _Please don't be too hard on Troy_ , he pleads. _He's doing his best. He's only human. He's still_ your son _._

When Coach Bolton departs, tension still laces the air.

No one makes a move to comfort or reassure Troy. Not Chad, who pauses only briefly in the midst of a chest pass. Not even Peyton, who at least has the decency to lower his camera, a discomfited expression on his face.

As soon as Ryan has an opening, he slips away from the girls on the cheer squad, who are immersed in conversations with one another about tests, clothes, and boys, and to Troy's side. "Are you doing okay?" He asks, maintaining a careful distance.

Troy lets out a dry laugh. "Not from where my dad is standing."

Taking in the moisture glistening on the surface of Troy's eyes, Ryan searches himself for the right words to build the athlete back up. "Hey. Troy…" He takes a few steps closer. "All this basketball stuff is important for scholarships, and whatnot. But the ability to dunk a ball doesn't define a person. Your dad should remember that."

Once more, Troy appears taken aback, like this concept has never occurred to him. Looking at who Troy's father and best friend are, Ryan can imagine why. "You're bizarre, Ryan," Troy finally says, and Ryan feels his heart sink. Rejection. Of course. What else could he- "But in a good way."

"Really?"

"Yes, _really_." Troy smiles.

A basketball chooses that particular moment, almost as if on cue, to roll into his foot. With a glance at Ryan, Troy doesn't hesitate to punt it across the gymnasium floor.

As the ball sails through the air, Troy's teammates trade bewildered expressions. Chad is particularly startled, if the look he gives a tall boy with the name Baylor on his uniform, is any indication.

But, it's _Troy's_ reaction that Ryan concerns himself with. He takes in the brunet's features and body language, hoping that Troy's teammates' dismay hasn't discouraged him from arriving at some sort of epiphany. Thankfully, Troy appears entirely unfazed. A smile spreads across his face, and his eyes gleam with excitement.

Ryan feels himself breaking into a grin.

"Hey." Troy turns back to him. "Do you have a bus buddy for the ride to tonight's game?"

Ryan shakes his head. "I usually sit with my sister, but I have a feeling she's acquired a new partner."

"You mean Peyton?"

Peyton. _That's_ his name. "Could- Could you tell him I said thanks for helping me out, the other day?"

"Yeah, of course." Troy begins backing up, pointing at Ryan as he goes. "Save me a seat on the bus tonight."

It takes a second for the request to process. _"Save me…" Oh my_ gosh _._

"C'mon, boys! Let's huddle up!" Coach Bolton commands.

Troy gives Ryan a last unbelievably suave smile over his shoulder before obeying his father's command.

Ryan wiggles his fingers in a wave at him, heart soaring somewhere among the clouds, and turns to rejoin his own group, only to get a face full of pom-pom.

"You can make kissy faces with Wonderboy some other time," Sharpay chastises him. "We have a game tonight."

Blocking her out, a still dazed Ryan watches Troy get into the dunking stance and easily fire off a three point shot that sails right into the basket. Even as Sharpay unleashes a groan, seizes him by the wrist, and drags him back toward the other girls, Ryan's chest swells with excitement.

* * *

The bus vibrates beneath Ryan's feet as he follows his sister onboard. Sharpay slips into the first seat in the cheerleaders' section of the bus. The rest of the girls pass by, splitting off into pairs as they take their seats.

Ryan drops into the seat across the aisle from Sharpay. He feels the vehicle jarred about as the basketball team clamors onboard.

Chad leads the guys in a call and response of "What team?" "WILDCATS!", his voice loud enough to be heard _very_ clearly over the purr of the engine, much to the bus driver's chagrin.

A distinct tenor-baritone joins the chant. Ryan's head whips toward the front of the bus to see Troy, dressed in his Wildcats uniform, the number 14 emblazoned in bold, white print on the chest of his red jersey, making his way down the aisle, Peyton on his heels.

Peyton holds his camera close to his chest in an almost protective manner, and Troy has a confidence to his step that he was lacking earlier. His gaze is intense, focused.

Ryan feels his breath hitch in his throat as Troy approaches with a smile playing on his lips.

A smile that he aims at Ryan. Not any of the girls- _Ryan_.

Across the aisle, Sharpay moves her bag off of the empty space beside her, and shoots Peyton a wide smile. "I'm surprised Coach Bolton lets you attend games," she says, crossing one leg over the other in what Ryan suspects to be less of an attempt to accommodate the tall boy, and more a calculated method of showing off her toned calves. "You're quite the distraction."

Peyton's lips quirk into a smile. "As far as I can tell, you're the only one whose eyes stray from Troy long enough to notice me and my camera."

"I wouldn't go getting a swelled head, if I were you," Sharpay chastises him, but despite her folding her arms and feigning an expression of distaste, there's no anger backing her words. In fact, from where Ryan is sitting, his sister's brown eyes appear to almost glow. "You still have to make sure you get quality shots of me for the yearbook."

Troy has stopped to watch the exchange between the twosome, and from his position next to Peyton, he catches Ryan's eye. The two of them share a look, mirroring each other's smiles of amusement.

Ryan _would_ tease his sister for being so obvious about her infatuation, but he knows he's no better. He's positive the whole school knows of his… _thing_ for Troy Bolton. Well, the percentage of the student body that is aware that he exists, anyway.

Really, though, how many people attending East High can honestly say they've never felt even a twinge of attraction to Troy? Ryan is certain that number is very, very small.

"Alright, boys!" Coach Bolton's voice booms as he and his assistant coach ascend the stairs.

Peyton drops right into the seat beside Sharpay, and Troy whips around to face his father, looking startled.

"Simmer down." At Coach Bolton's command, _most_ of the commotion dies down. Ryan can still hear a few whispers near the back of the bus. "You know the drill," the coach goes on, "no yelling, running, or standing up while the bus is in motion. Troy." He fixes a stern gaze on his son, the only person aside from the coaches who is still standing.

Giggles and chuckles break out.

Pink colors Troy's cheeks and he lets out an awkward laugh.

Ryan bites at his lower lip sympathetically.

"Right." Troy, making a valiant effort to appear unaffected by his embarrassment, crosses over to the empty seat next to Ryan. "Is this seat taken?" He whispers. A hint of a grin tugs at his mouth.

"I _was_ told to save it for someone, but I'll make an exception for you," Ryan replies softly with what he's sure is a big, stupid smile on his face. He tries his best to resist the temptation to flutter his eyelashes, like he's seen Sharpay do in conversation with boys that she wants to obtain some measure of power over, but he thinks an involuntary eyelash flutter happened, anyway.

If Troy noticed, he doesn't comment on it. He settles into the seat, his thigh brushing against Ryan's. Ryan expects him to immediately jerk away like he's been scalded, like a lot of their male peers seem to when they accidentally touch the resident homosexual, but Troy doesn't do that, either.

Ryan finds himself becoming increasingly more intrigued with Troy Bolton, and it both excites and terrifies him.

When the bus ride begins, and Troy turns around to engage an Asian boy who swatted him on the back of the head to get his attention, in conversation, Ryan, feeling discouraged by what appears to be a sign that he won't be getting to know Troy like he had hoped, slips his earbuds into his ears and switches on his Ipod. He has to crank the volume up to make out anything over the dull roar of conversation and his sister's giddy laughter from across the aisle.

About thirty seconds into the second song, he feels a movement at his side.

"What are you listening to?" Troy asks, voice raised just enough to make itself audible.

Ryan removes one earbud and turns to face his bus buddy. "Oh, um…" He isn't quite sure how to tell Troy what the contents of his Ipod are without being judged for his… _eclectic_ musical tastes.

"Can I listen, too?"

Ryan's pulse picks up speed with sudden trepidation. He's still waiting for the inevitable screw-up that causes Troy's interest in him to shrivel right into non-existence. What if this is it? But, Troy's expression is so earnest and sincere, he swallows and offers up his left earbud.

Gaze intent, Troy leans in until his shoulder is touching Ryan's. Woodkid's "I Love You", featuring Angel Haze, flows out of the speakers and into their ears.

Ryan watches Troy's face for hints of displeasure and disapproval. What he sees is Troy's head bobbing and his foot tapping, almost subconsciously, to the infectious beat.

Troy catches Ryan observing him, and his eyes slide to the blond cheerleader. He gives him a soft smile of reassurance, approval, and maybe encouragement, as well. Encouragement that, yeah, Ryan is weird, but it's a weird that Troy likes.

At least, that's what Ryan finds himself wishing it is.

Troy doesn't remove the earbud or hand it back over when the song ends and the next one starts up. It's "Folding Chair", by Regina Spektor, and when Regina Spektor does her impression of "the dolphin song", Troy smiles, a light laugh escaping him.

Humiliation sweeps over Ryan, stealing into his nerves and rushing to his cheeks, setting them ablaze. Heart pounding with shame, he pauses the song and moves to put his Ipod away. "We don't have to listen to music anymore," he manages. He wants to sink through the seat and disappear.

"What's wrong?" Troy asks. His eyes shine with bewilderment, and Ryan is at odds with himself for putting that expression on such a beautiful face.

"I…" Ryan inhales and exhales slowly, hoping his pulse will return to normal and the red staining his face will fade. "I listen to weird stuff. It-It's okay if you don't like-"

"Hey." Troy leans into him. His close proximity and the heat coming off of his exposed skin are dangerous. Because they make Ryan feel like he could get used to having Troy near him. "I thought that song was adorable."

"You… You did?"

"I…" Troy licks at his upper lip and a very faint pink colors his cheeks. "I think you're adorable, too."

As Ryan is searching himself for a response- something like an optimistic "Really?", or an emphatic, but still restrained, because they're on a bus full of people who might not take so kindly to a "freak" flirting with their golden boy, "Well, I think you're the most beautiful person I've ever laid eyes on"- another hand reaches up to swat Troy on the back of the head.

The appendage making contact with Troy's head is startlingly audible. Ryan wonders if it hurts, just how often the guys on the team slap the brunet around. Troy is still relatively small compared to some of the senior members of the team, and with him being the _coach's son_ as well as the team captain, they must be so…

Just thinking about it makes Ryan's stomach flip over itself.

Sharpay may be a drill sergeant, at times, but she's never raised a hand to any of the girls on the cheer squad. Nor have any of the girls attempted to lay a hand on her. And, as far as Ryan is concerned, no one has the _right_ to inflict any measure of harm on Troy, be they envious of his position at the top of the school's social pyramid and front of the team's command, or not. The very idea of bruises blackening and marring Troy's sun-kissed skin is… utterly abhorrent.

Troy seems more than mildly annoyed, his brows angling into a scowl, and Ryan shares in his irritation.

He can feel his expression souring. He has to fight to not turn around and glare at the piece of work who can't be bothered to keep his hands to himself, or, at the very least, call Troy's name to get his attention, like any reasonable person would.

When Troy turns around to respond to the swat, Ryan hears a low, obviously male voice declaring _much_ too loudly, "Hey Bolton. I didn't know you liked fruitcake."

Fruitcake. Ryan rolls his eyes. _How original._

He sees Troy turning back to face the front of the bus, rolling his eyes, as well.

But, the guy behind them isn't done. "Didn't he get jumped in the parking lot for being a fruit?"

"Why?" Troy whips around fast as lightning, and Ryan can feel heat radiating from the glare Troy shoots the other boy. Troy's voice adopts a furious tone that Ryan has never heard him use before. He sounds almost _frightening_. "Did you have anything to do with it? If you did, I swear I'll have you booted off this team before you can blink."

The guy laughs, but Ryan can tell that the threat of termination of his basketball career has struck a nerve. "R-Relax, Bolton. Okay? I didn't beat up your boyfriend and wouldn't dream of it."

Troy's fury ebbs, his nostrils flaring in a long, heavy exhalation before his shoulders go slack. For what isn't the first time, his immaculate exterior cracks, revealing the toll the constant pressure stacked on his shoulders has taken on him.

"Troy, I'm so sorry-" Ryan begins.

"What are you sorry for?" Troy's expression is a mixture of sad, weary, and honestly confused. "You didn't do anything wrong. Some people are… They just, just-"

"Decide who you are before you get a chance to figure it out?" Ryan offers. His heart twists, heavy with empathy.

"Yeah." Troy nods. His chest and shoulders heave with a sigh that seems to reach down to his toes.

Ryan takes a moment to consider his phrasing, then reaches out to touch Troy's bicep. "It sucks. Especially when the person slapping a label on you can't come up with anything more creative than 'fruitcake'."

Troy looks up, caught off-guard, for a moment, then laughs. It's a weary laugh, but still very earnest.

Ryan smiles at him and gives him a gentle nudge. "So, what kind of music do you listen to?"

Troy rubs at the back of his neck. "I like a lot of classic rock- Queen, REO Speedwagon, Journey. I love 'Heroes', by David Bowie."

Ryan gives him a smile of approval, encouraging him with a nod to go on.

"And, I… " Troy's cheeks begin to flush, embarrassment seemingly creeping its way back into him, as if he's anticipating rejection, just like Ryan did. "I like Nickelback and a few Linkin Park songs. Chad and Peyton give me _so_ much crap for it."

"My sister hates it when I listen to Björk," Ryan says, reaching out to rub at Troy's upper arm. "She thinks she sounds like a dying cat that should be put out of its misery."

"Oh, geez." Troy shakes his head. As he does so, laughing quietly, his shoulder touches Ryan's, and his head gets close enough to Ryan's for the scent of his shampoo to reach Ryan's nose. It's clean, and just as enticing as everything else about the brunette athlete. "Woodkid, Regina Spektor, Björk… I'm going to have to write all of this down."

"You're really interested in the kind of music I listen to?"

"Of course I am. I…" Troy turns to lock eyes with him. His gaze and intonation are so serious, Ryan feels his breath hitch. "I'm interested in everything about you."

Ryan's pulse picks up. His eyes flicker to Troy's lips, and he finds himself unable to do anything but bite at his own lower lip to suppress the urge to lean forward and close off the gap between himself and Troy.

The bus hits a speed bump.

Troy reflexively reaches out to keep Ryan seated, and while the mood has definitely been ruined, a smile tugs at Troy's lips once he's certain Ryan is okay, and his hands remain wrapped around Ryan's biceps just long enough for Ryan to be confident that the driver's carelessness hasn't ruined him and Troy.

* * *

High-pitched laughter intersperses the sounds of the rest of the girls going over their cheer routines. Ryan glances in the direction of the laughter and sees Sharpay wedging a pom-pom between herself and Peyton. She's grinning a wide, sincere grin that Ryan hasn't seen on her face since they were children as the tall boy tries to pull her into him.

Peyton's large hands rest comfortably on Sharpay's petite backside, and Ryan feels a faint stirring in his chest, a longing for strong, callused hands resting on his own lower back.

"I told you, my left side is better for close-ups!" Sharpay exclaims, emitting peals of giddy laughter.

Peyton's glasses are crooked and slipping down his nose, but he doesn't seem to care. "What are you talking about? You look good from every conceivable angle."

The two of them continue to laugh together as Peyton effortlessly hoists the head cheerleader up and spins her around, and Ryan's mouth twitches into a smile. He supposes he _could_ find their shameless PDA nauseating and worthy of an eye-roll, but he's really just happy that his sister has managed to stop pretending that she's attracted to jocks, whom she has always derided as sweaty, and smelly, and incapable of understanding and appreciating how much effort she puts into perfecting each split and high-kick while still maintaining her pristine appearance.

"They just can't appreciate how difficult it is to be _me_ ," he recalls her telling him one night during the previous school year, after a date with Chad Danforth had gone awry.

Ryan supposes that Peyton must have the understanding and appreciation of the difficulties that come with being Sharpay Evans that athletes apparently lack.

"Hey, bus buddy."

Ryan whirls around, the familiar timbres of the voice addressing him causing his heart to skip a beat. "Hey," he says, a grin tugging at his lips.

"I thought I'd provide you with a distraction from the… _show_ your sister is putting on before I have to…" After loping up to Ryan's side and leaving less than a foot of distance between them, Troy falters, suddenly sheepish. He gazes at the bleachers full of people buzzing with excitement, and Ryan follows his eyes to where Coach Bolton and the rest of the East High team stand, across the gymnasium. Coach Bolton is pacing, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, and some of Troy's teammates are jittery with anticipation.

Ryan doesn't need to ask. He can _feel_ the pressure piling on Troy's shoulders, and see the makings of doubt beginning to eat away at the brunet athlete. "Lead your teammates to another amazing victory?" Before Troy can drag himself into a frame of mind where the pressure and his own insecurities consume him, Ryan goes on, "You're Troy Bolton. You can do or be _anything_ you set your mind to."

Troy meets Ryan's eyes and swallows. His body is taut with nervous energy. "Do you really mean that?"

Ryan takes a small step into the brunet, maintaining eye-contact as he does so. "If I didn't," he says softly, sincerely, "do you think I would have been cheering for you since sophomore year?"

Troy's lips part, once again, his long eyelashes veiling his eyes as they drop to Ryan's mouth. He has freckles on the bridge of his nose. Tiny, just visible if you look hard enough, freckles.

Unsure of the outcome and, surprisingly, unafraid of the consequences, Ryan leans in and pushes himself up on his toes, letting his lips brush against Troy's. He feels the softness of Troy's lips, and, before he can pull back and let loose a stream of apologies for being so stupidly presumptuous, Troy's hands- strong, callused, but very, very gentle- coming to rest on his hips. Ryan relaxes almost instantly. And, Troy, likewise, melts into the kiss, the nerves and anxiety exiting his body as he kisses back with languid, easy movements.

When they break off, Troy is dazed, just like he was earlier that day, near Sharpay's locker.

Glancing briefly in the direction of Troy's teammates and the opposing team proves that no one saw their little… tryst. _Thank goodness_.

A smile slowly plays across Troy's lips, blossoming into a grin.

Ryan returns it. "Go Wildcats."

Troy touches his nose to Ryan's. Beneath the veil of his eyelashes, his eyes glow. "Go Wildcats."

* * *

Red and white banners declaring the Wildcats' victory decorate the school. There's a new addition to the trophy case sitting in the main hallway.

When he shows Ryan the trophy, gold and shining after being polished to perfection earlier that morning by the assistant coach, Troy snakes an arm around Ryan's back, pulling the smaller boy into him.

"What did I tell you?" Ryan asks. His heart swells with pride for Troy and his teammates, even the asshole who couldn't come up with a better insult than "fruitcake".

"We couldn't have done it without you." Troy touches his lips to the top of Ryan's head and adds, whispering into his hair, " _I_ couldn't have done it without you."

Ryan longs to assure him, _"Of_ course _you could have"_. Instead, he says, "I have something I want to show you, as well."

Troy's brows furrow, perplexed, but he follows Ryan to the gym, anyway.

"So, I, um, wanted to help you branch out. Broaden your horizons."

"Oh?" Troy arches one distinct brow beneath his adorably messy bangs.

Ryan sucks in a breath and bites at his lower lip. _Please don't hate me. Please don't laugh at me_ , he thinks. "Alright, so… I was thinking, with your love of music and… You'd maybe want to try dancing with me?"

Something sparks behind Troy's eyes.

"I'd understand if you don't, of course. I'm a total amateur, and-"

Troy takes a step forward and places his hand on Ryan's waist. Any further ramblings catch and die in Ryan's throat. "What sort of dance did you have in mind?"

"Um, well, junior prom's coming up in a few months."

"It is." Troy's hand settles in the valley right before the curve of Ryan's hip, and his pinkie rubs just ever so slightly at the ridge of Ryan's hipbone.

Ryan swallows. "How do you feel about a two-step?"

"I'm game for anything." Troy smiles that charming smile that Ryan is certain Principal Matsui would have plastered all over the school if he could get away with it, and Ryan's stomach floods with warmth.

The two-step becomes a waltz that somehow devolves- or graduates, depending on your perspective, Ryan supposes- into Ryan guiding Troy through a cheer routine. One of the simpler ones, of course. Troy is surprisingly light on his feet, gliding across the floor without even grazing Ryan's feet with his own, and as he playfully strikes poses, including the signature Wildcat claw swipes, Ryan's brain conjures the image of Troy in one of the male cheerleading uniforms; how the tight top would flatter Troy's newly forming chest muscles, and remarks, "Maybe I should talk to my sister and see if there's an opening on the squad."

"I can do a mean Wildcats chant. Wildcats, sing along. Yeah, you've really got it going on. Wildcats in the house. Everybody say it now! Wildcats everywhere, wave your hands up in the-"

Ryan lays a hand on Troy's chest. "If I was in charge, you'd be hired on the spot."

Pink tints Troy's cheeks. "I'm, uh, sure Sharpay wouldn't mind a little extra eye-candy on the team," he jokes. He gives his hair a playful toss, throwing the highlighted streaks shot through his natural golden brown into disarray, and Ryan can't stop the laughter from bubbling out of his throat.

"I don't know. I think she'd be pretty jealous if you stole even more of her spotlight."

Troy smiles, but the amused twinkle in his eyes begins to fade. "Nah. I'd make a lousy addition to the squad."

Ryan's face falls and he becomes suddenly aware of his hand on Troy's chest. He withdraws his appendage, feeling heat flare in his own cheeks. "Why's that?"

"Well…" Troy schools his features into a stone serious contemplative expression and takes a big step forward, index finger curled around his chin as passes. "For one, I'd be so focused on a certain member of the squad, I'd be tripping all over myself."

"Oh?" Ryan's heart skips a beat.

"Yeah." Troy's eyes seem to burn as they scan Ryan's backside, and Ryan is all too aware of a bead of sweat trickling down his left eyebrow.

"A certain member of the squad who happens to have a perfect body, 'cause his eyelashes perform a certain function."

Somewhere between mildly bewildered, pleasantly surprised, and head over heels, Ryan whirls around to meet the star athlete and breaks into a grin at the smile that greets him. "Do they?" He asks, arching one of his own eyebrows.

"They do. They doo-o-o-o-o", Troy finishes, drawing the last word in a sing-song tone.

Simultaneously, they both try to imitate Regina Spektor's "dolphin song", the grunts and seal bark-esque noises dissolving into laughter. His sides aching, Ryan doubles over and Troy grabs him, wrapping his arms around the smaller boy's waist and pulling him in close.

"You never have to be alone, again," Troy murmurs, the intensity backing his words causing Ryan's breath to hitch.

Ryan thinks of all of the times he's had to watch couples from afar, wishing to have what they had, of all of the nights he spent alone while Sharpay reeled in her latest catch, of the day he was jumped while waiting for his sister and Peyton, of every appendage driven into his back, sides, and stomach for daring to be both a cheerleader and an owner of male anatomy, and leans into the embrace. He presses his back to Troy's sturdy chest, and recalls the hours Troy devoted to extra practices, to proving himself worthy of his titles and living up to his father's expectations.

He thinks about the isolation that accompanies a position at the top of the social caste system. Of the inability to be understood and seen as a _person_ that comes about as a consequence of the entire world adoring you enough to place you on a pedestal.

"Neither do you," he promises.

For the first time in the two and a half school years Ryan has known him, Troy positively radiates contentment, and Ryan lets himself think about his future after high school. _Their_ future after high school. He can see Troy playing basketball through college, if only to placate Coach Bolton, and he envisions himself attending every game, waggling pom-poms and cheering ecstatically in a world that will finally accept him and Troy for who they are.

Eclectic music tastes and all.


End file.
